


All That is Gold Does Not Glitter

by sadbabyosborn (arka_r)



Series: Baby I'm Your Nucleus [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Frigga Lives, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Odin lives, Thor: The Dark World Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:50:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arka_r/pseuds/sadbabyosborn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Kingdom of Asgard loses her shine, Frigga hopes, Odin dreams, and Thor learns.</p><p>2nd part of a series. Frostiron is mentioned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Frigga

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FancyKraken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyKraken/gifts).



> Ta-daah... I made a continuation. Because I have no self control :D
> 
> Title from a poem by J.R.R. Tolkien
> 
> [All that is gold does not glitter,  
> Not all those who wander are lost;  
> The old that is strong does not wither,  
> Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
> 
> From the ashes a fire shall be woken,  
> A light from the shadows shall spring;  
> Renewed shall be blade that was broken,  
> The crownless again shall be king.]

There is nigh to naught that Frigga, the Goddess-Queen and the All-Mother, can do. When her Lord Husband returned from the warring camps, bringing in a small, helpless babe, she could do nothing but to raise the freak of a runtling, that was of the blood of her own husband’s nemesis. And oh, how a trying time it was! The child was… difficult, always wailing endlessly when left alone. Maybe the child understood that he was left alone… exposed to the weather because of his weakness. But of course, it tugged at her heartstrings. It did not take long for the child to become the child of her heart… if not of her blood.

She raised the child with her own hands. Undeniably, it brought her great joy and never misery. It was truly different experience altogether compared to raising Thor. When Thor was loud and brash, Loki was silent and observant. Loki was… and is, always observing. It was from his unmatched observation skill that Loki knew which colors she preferred, which flowers she loved most. It was also from observing her works that Loki casted his first spell, destroying one tapestry that she’d been working at. Despite his birthright as a Frost Giant, Loki was particularly skilled in fire magic. She still keeps that one tapestry, singed right at its centre.

So she was the most cross when _that_ accursed dwarf called for her child’s head and the most worried when he returned from his _folly_ against the Hrimthurs. That _folly_ … she still shudders remembering how her silent son returned all bloodied and _frightened_ and carrying a whinnying, kicking eight-legged foal in his arms. In the throne room, she could do nothing against her Lord Husband, her _King_. But in their chambers, she made her angers known.

When both her sons grew older, she could do nothing when they embarked on their journey, trying to prove themselves men grown. Oh of course, she insisted them to carry one or four amulets of her own carvings, weaved tight with the spells of protection, good fortune, and many things more she could think of. Yet they always returned all bruised and scarred, sometimes with a broken bone or ten. Her Lord Husband always tried to assure her, let the boys be boys, let them explore, let them fight, let them _prove_ themselves. To prove _what_ , she always wanted to scream at him. She did not her sons to prove anything. She knew them. She saw them grow, saw their dedication in their study and training.

When her Lord Husband _banished_ her Thor, her golden Thor, to a backwater realm, it was her last straw. She called on his fault, _confronted_ him. When she learned upon the truth, the reason why her Loki _chose_ to end his very life, she found herself unable to face her Lord Husband. So great was her grief, that each night, as they laid together in their bed, she kept thinking to exact a retribution for the son of her heart. Her Loki. Her poor Loki.

She couldn’t do it. Not only she would break her marriage vow and betraying the treaty of her own people, but also she would break her son’s heart. Her Thor, her poor Thor, had have enough mourning.

Again, she could do nothing when that very son of her brought back her Loki. Oh how she remembers running straight to the newly repaired Bifrost… only to find that her dearest son had changed. No longer she saw the mischievous glint in her son’s lush green eyes. No longer she heard the lilt of his accent. It was as if someone stealing her son’s face. Someone who was vengeful, who was anything but her beloved son… who was spitting curses right at her face. She could not decide whether knowing her son died or finding this _spiteful_ man in his place hurt her the most.

When her son fell once again, there was nothing she could do, as always. But as always, there was always something… something to pull her Loki through. It was then when she found out that someone fell for her son enough to deny his death, to threaten even the fiercest gatekeeper Asgard had ever had. No, she did not take kindly that someone used her other son, her Thor, to get his way, but she appreciated that someone did it for her lost son. No, her Loki needed him, this curious man… Anthony Edward Stark.

So this time, she feels no grief… well, nearly, as normal as a mother will for being unable to see her son. Her Loki, once again, is lost in the Void. But this time he is with someone… someone who loves him the most, someone who will undoubtedly show how much her son is loved.

Her Loki, the son of her heart, is gone. There is nigh to naught she can do to bring him back. But this time, she feels no worry. Her son is in the right hand.

She believes they will return soon.


	2. Odin

When Odin sleeps, he dreams of a mewling child in the harsh snowstorm. The mewling soon turns into a heart-wrenching cry of a lost hope. His feet sinks a knee deep in snow and blood, but far ahead he sees an altar of sacrifice where a runtling wails.

As he picks the babe, fit in the crook of his arms, the blue seeps into pale milk of an Ås and red bleeds into lush greens. A crow croaks from afar, and the howling wind hushes into soft rustles of his Lady Wife’s garden. He remembers planting the seeds of many trees and many flowers from many worlds. This is the garden she loves most. This is where he knows he will find her. As predicted, he finds his beloved sitting in the midst of the soft grass, green as their foster child’s eyes, as she cradles the newfound runtling in her arms, cooing and pointing out the names of the flowers around her.

Odin finds unease as he watches the child awake and alert, listening to every word with keen eyes glowing bright, as if afraid the pale milk will bleed into blue and green turns into red, and the terrible Laufey will spring forth out of nowhere. Thor sleeps on her lap, gold hair streaked with dirt. She sees him and smiles. The same smile when he finds himself cooing over a crib. Come on, he says, say Papa. The green-eyed child cackles, pulling a strand of gold hair, and yells something resembling ‘ _bwatha’_.

Thor cries as his brother pulling his hair as if trying to scalp him, Frigga tuts at her sons, and Odin smiles as he finds himself sitting on the golden floor. He smiles at those curious eyes peeking from the shy child hiding behind Frigga’s skirt. There is a deep dark abyss spreading three feet between him and her.

The child steps into the abyss and falls, and falls, and falls. Wind whips at his cheeks as he stares below from the broken bridge, his firstborn dangling dangerously on the edge. Swirls of colors and darkness are swallowing the child, a kaleidoscope of memories whirling like rainstorm. The child’s first steps the green, green eyes staring wide in wonders; the smell of singed tapestry, a hole burning right at the place where a wolf’s face should be; the worry of fatherhood when finally his sons go in a hunting trip, proving their adulthood; the sadness upon finding his sons come home bloodied and bruised and bones broken but laughing merrily with abandon; the guilt when his son, his Loki, asks, voice broken into mere whispers, ‘Am I cursed?’

The darkness envelops him, and Odin weeps.

A soft finger touches his cheek, pulling him into the realm of the waking. As expected, Odin sees his beloved at his side, golden and beautiful and ageless. Yet he could see a hint of sadness in those clear blue eyes of hers, akin to the sky before rain falls.

“Loki… Where is Loki?” he asks, while trying to slip off his bedding, itching to do something… anything, wanting to search for his son, hoping to find him safe and alive and locked deep inside the dungeons of Asgard instead of dead or tortured or wounded.

“Love…” his beloved wife tries to help him, steadying him on his feet. A bead of tears rolls down her soft cheeks. “Love, Loki fell… He fell from the Bifrost.”

His mind is still groggy and hazy and whirling with questions. Fell from the Bifrost…? Was it years ago? Was his son truly died?

He remembers with grief so great it punches breath out of his chest, of a pair of poisonous green eyes, glaring promises of death and painful things. He remembers this stranger, this _madman_ , wearing his son’s face, speaking with his voice—voice he adores once, for speaking calmly of gentle suggestions in councils, for making jests in numerous feasts. Was it all but _dreams_ when his firstborn, his Thor, dragging back Loki in chains? Was it all a foolish hope of an old man, trying to the hardest to deny that his son is gone for good?

It is long past Odin doubts that the child he brought into his very house, raised as his own son, will grow into… into _this_. Never once it passes in his mind that this child will grow bitter, cold, like Laufey. If anything, Odin feels that Loki is more of an Odinson more than Thor ever hopes to achieve.

Thor, the child of his blood, is his golden heir. Thor is someone Odin always wants to be: a shining example of an honorable warrior. His son’s strength lies in his loyalty to his kingdom, and the loyalty of those who followed him.

But Thor has always been brash, loud… _obnoxious_. Loki, his dearest Loki, has always been more silent between his sons; more silent, and definitely more cunning, a trait that Odin owns. Even they fight with the same method, preferring magic over hand-to-hand combat, sneaking from behind than charging from the front.

When a scouting guard reporting back about his son’s death… Odin finds himself so lost at words. He mourns, and regrets, and blames himself. He should not speak so cruelly to his son. His son was hurt… and lost. As a father, he should guide him to be better, to tell him just how much he loved him. But he can’t. He is a king before a father. His judgment should be unbiased.

Still, he can’t sleep a night without dreaming on how he will turn back the time, to undo the damage he had caused to his son, to embrace him and cherish him before dawn comes breaking all his dreams.

Odin feels weary, despite having awakened from his Sleep.

—

Frigga, his Lady Wife, has helping him to recollect the three years past, to remember things he thought were dreams. The war on Midgard, the coming of the Svartalfar… and her supposed death. Once again, he bows to her cunnings that he loves so.

Then she retells the times after Loki put him into Odinsleep, which jars him to no end. If his son… Loki… wanted Odin dead, he could slit his throat under simple illusions and none would be the wiser. Somehow Odin thinks that it were a sign that his son wants nothing of his death. Or so he hopes. It is a foolish hope, from a foolish old man, weary of age, he knows.

He tries not to think about Thor… his golden son, how he wanted to disclaim his right to the throne. His son, his firstborn son… his heir, has grown into a better man, somehow without his guidance. It pains him, somehow, but still he prays the Nornir for the best of his son. Maybe he should send a token of gratitude to that mortal woman of his, for supporting his son in odds and evens. Maybe he should invite her as a honorary guest. Maybe someday…

—

Odin eats, and rules, and sleeps.

The golden halls of Asgard seem to lose their glitters without his sons. When he holds the council, sometimes he sees a flicker of two, red or green capes moving at the corner of his eye. His voice will waver when it happens, before he puts his stern face and send his judgment to the council.

No one in Asgard knows that Loki ruled as Odin for nearly a year, and neither they know that he lives (albeit questionably), except for Frigga, Thor, and Heimdall. Odin chooses to keep it that way. In the honor of his lost son, he stubbornly refuses to put blame to his son more than he already did. To his distaste, no one mourns for Loki, and in feasts, no one raises their cup for Loki’s sacrifice in Svartalfheim, though the means of Loki’s death was made known already. Not even the Warriors Three or Lady Sif, who often accompanied his sons to their quests, mourns. It is only then Odin realizes that Loki had no companion in Asgard.

His Lady Wife told him, though, about that curious human who mourned Loki’s death. The human he knows as Thor’s companion in Midgard, the Man of Iron and the master of their strange technologies, Anthony Stark. Wherever his son is, Stark is with him. Odin should be grateful that his son is… loved. Instead he feels another pain that he cannot bring happiness to his son. Again. It makes him wonder. Was he such a terrible father to his sons? Was he truly unworthy of his title of fatherhood?

His beloved lady will always be there for him, to cheer him and help him. Sometimes they will walk together to the gardens, in a similar way to the times when they were newly wedded. Her hands will be in his forearm as he guides her passing the cobblestone path. The gardens, too, seem duller. The flowers refuse to bloom and the birds refuse to sing. Every now and then, he will imagine of Thor trampling about the flowerbeds or Loki reading under the largest fig tree in the gardens. The flowerbeds stay neat, and the bench under the fig tree empty.

—

When Odin sits on his throne, his single eye stares into the stars and constellations where they revolve on their axis that is the very heart of the World Tree, hoping to catch a glimpse of his lost son. Sometimes he sees nothing and hears nothing. Sometimes he hears news flitting about, the chaos outside the World Tree where the Chitauri resides, their bases destroyed by unknown factor. Sometimes he catches glimpses of his son, in the arms of that curious human, smiling and happy and content.

He thinks it’s enough for him, as for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the reason why i didn't put this up sooner is that my laptop crashes after having been turned on for three weeks straight and a chunk of this chapter is missing because of that /o/
> 
> anyway, i kinda like the idea of good daddy!Odin. he tries really hard guys so give him some kudos :p


	3. Thor

There are so many things that Thor does not understand.

There were times his brother would gladly remind him thus, calling him a variety of dolt, git, oaf, buffoon… and sometimes a very not nice _dimwit_. Those times are long past now. His brother is lost in the Void, once again, though thankfully not dead. He thanks the Norns for it days and nights. He’s supposed to live on with an angry father, a dead mother, and a dead brother. Instead he has a supposedly living brother, a sleeping father, and a thankfully living mother.

He has his mother explaining it to him, at his father’s bedside, while waiting for Odin to wake up. Love, she tells him. The Man of Iron loves Loki, so much he followed when Loki jumped off the bridge. The question is: _is Loki love him back?_

_Is there still a heart for Loki to love?_

_Does he love me still? Are we brothers still? What I am then to him?_

Love. The word so simple it brings too many confusions and unanswered questions. Thor remembers with sudden clarity the six months past; of Tony drowning in his own foul smelling vomit and empty bottles, of Tony weeping at Loki’s quiet funeral, of Tony obsessing over Loki, trying his darndest to prove that Loki is _not_ dead. It is so obvious now, that Tony loves Loki. But _why?_

His head is still spinning when his feet touches the landing platform of the Stark Tower. The light of Bifrost dissolves into nothing as he makes way to the living room. The room is… empty, but Thor knows that Jarvis is watching.

(He could not pretend he understands the workings of Jarvis. He thinks it is akin to having Heimdall, always seeing, always watching, always alert, and silently guarding.)

“Jarvis, is anyone home?” he asks to the ceiling. He likes to think he speaks to the man in the ceiling, because Jarvis’ voice always comes from the ceiling, despite Tony’s explanation that Jarvis is practically the tower and thusly has eyes and ears almost literally everywhere, even from Tony’s suit and occasionally his phone.

 _‘Mr. Rogers is currently on an Avengers’ mission, Mr. Odinson. He is not to be back for at least two weeks’_ , Jarvis replies, then adds as an afterthought, _‘Should I call him?_ ’

“Yes, please…” Thor huffs then hanging Mjollnir on a coat hanger (a concept that is strange to both Tony and Steve, but how does he explain to his Midgardian fellows that they shall leave weapons upon entering a house when they have no such custom?)

Flopping heavily on the checkered sofa, he groans and rubs his eyes.

How should he explain to the fellow Avengers that Tony Stark is probably dead somewhere in a far-off galaxy?

—

“Run that to me again”, Lady Potts glares. Tough as he may, Thor is most afraid to face her wrath, just like he fears her mother’s, Lady Sif’s, or his Lady Jane’s. Truly, why is he always surrounded by scary ladies?

(He fears Lady Romanoff too, but she is always scary, so it does not count.)

His fellow Avengers plus Director Fury and Lady Potts are gathering in the living room of Stark Tower. The Director’s single eye makes him nervous, but Lady Potts’ eyes are almost _glowing red_ that if she starts breathing fire, he’ll not be surprised. It makes him want to flee the room, preferably immediately. He can’t run, though. He owes her, mostly, because he knows that she cares for Tony the most. He knows that their relationship is at odds, but she still cares.

“To-Tony jumped off the Rainbow Bridge… to-to-to… tofollowloki.”

“Now I don’t quite catch that, but I’m sure as hell I hear something resembling to ‘Loki’”, Agent Barton growls.

“I thought Loki is dead”, Steve looks at him, the question in his tone is clear enough for him to catch.

Thor gulps. “He did not… He… survived. And wore my father’s face and ruled in his stead. I busted his glamour and he fled… jumped off the Rainbow Bridge. Tony followed.”

“Why?” Bruce asks. Though gentle as he may, Thor still can see the green tints around his eyes where his vein pulses. “Why is Tony following him?”

“Because he loves Loki.”

Thor can almost hear the deafening silence after the words are out. He fidgets in his seat again because it feels weird… What he’s sharing to the Avengers feels so personal. Maybe he shouldn’t tell them. Maybe he should lie or choose his words. But speaking lies or slandering truths are never his forte. It is more of Loki’s strength than his.

“I need a drink”, Lady Potts sighs and rubs her face. She stands and wanders around to where he knows Tony put his alcohols.

“Loki, Loki, Loki… _That_ Loki? Seriously?! The asshole who brought aliens in his attempt to conquer this world?! _THAT_ horned little shit Loki?” Agent Barton hisses.

“Be careful of how you speak about the son of Odin!” Thor slams his fist to the table, which splits into splinters. They can be mad at him for not bringing the news to them immediately—by Hel, they can be mad at _Loki_ for his crime. But no one, _no one,_ calls names to the sons of Odin.

“Or you what? Slap me with your hammer?” the agent’s eyes narrowing into angry slits. Thor can hear clicks of guns, probably Lady Romanoff. He makes no attempt to reach for Mjollnir. Yet.

“Now enough you two!” Lady Potts glowers at them, immediately becomes the center of attention once again with her menacing aura spreading inside the room. Thor swears for his hammer that the temperature rises several degrees.

“You two”, she points at him and Agent Barton. “Are scaring Dr. Banner. So stop. Or do it outside, I don’t care. With Tony indisposed, I legally inherit his wealth and his property, this tower including, until he’s back. So I’d rather not have _this_ tower”, she waves her hands at the room. “Broken. Again.”

“Yes, Ma’am”, Thor bows his head. Agent Barton mumbles something similar.

“Now, all of you, out. I must remind you that the Tower is a private property and I really don’t want to antagonize SHIELD, do you copy?” she smiles. It’s a kind of smile that reminds Thor of his own mother when he did wrong. It’s like a calm before a storm, and honestly, it scares him.

Director Fury seems to be purple around the edges, but he acquiesce.

“You still owe a hell lot explanation for me, Odinson”, he growls, then leaves to the balcony, his cape flutters behind him. One by one, the Avengers leave. Dr. Banner mutters a thank to Lady Potts and Steve throws Thor a confused look.

“Not you too, Thor. Jarvis, penthouse lockdown code 006357PP54851AS, lab lockdown code 006388PP54612AS. Now, come.” With that, Lady Potts strides ahead. Thor follows her obediently albeit confused.

 _‘Lockdown ETA in 05:00’_ , Jarvis tells them from the ceiling.

He can hear the quinjet’s machine blaring, though muted by the walls, and he cues it as the Avengers leaving the tower. The lamps are dimmed and he can hear the clicks of the door locks turning and closing. The air conditioning machines are, too, shut off. Overall, he thinks it odd for the tower to be this silent. There is only Lady Potts’ heeled shoes clicking on the glossy floor and his heavy gait following hers.

They reach the lobby, then to the valet parking where a plump man holding the door of a shiny black car opens. Lady Potts introduces them when they are inside and the driver takes the front seat (Thor is quite used to the concept of cars, what with Tony roping him to the tailors then to that banquet before, and it’s honestly not unlikely to the royal carriage back in Asgard). The man’s name is Happy, but to Thor, honestly, he seems grouchy.

“Where are we going to?” Thor asks.

“I’m taking you to Malibu. I can’t stay in the tower when it’s in lockdown but it’s more dangerous to leave it unprotected without Tony being there, and I really, _really_ , don’t want anyone, especially Avengers’ enemies, breaking in and loot everything, or specifically something from his lab”, she explains. He nods, understanding that Tony guarded his lab almost too jealously. Of course, it is because Tony’s lab keeps dangerous things, his Iron Man armors including. Perhaps it’s akin to a forger’s workshop.

“But I get a say in this?” he asks, teasingly. Surely it is worth a laugh that the Mighty Thor is being dragged about by this small Midgardian woman, but he takes no harm. She has her reasons.

She smiles. “No.”

—

There is another thing that Thor does not understand about Midgardians. Their settlements are separate, unlike Asgard’s citadel. The citadel was built when the conflict with Jotunheim arose, so the city should be built inside the fortress and clustered to make the defending easier. However the Midgardians’ dwellings are unlike that. They are separated with fields and forest and desert. The only clustered dwellings are at their cities, like the City of York, and they don’t seem have defending walls or the likes. Yet, from what he gathers in his short time at Midgard, the Country of America where Tony and the rests live is at war with other countries. Perhaps they’re just doing things differently.

Tony’s abode at the City of Malibu is… noticeably smaller than the Tower. It still looks grander than anything around, though, so Thor thinks it still worth a large amount of fortune. It takes place up above a cliff, facing to the ocean. It’s another thing he doesn’t understand. Why build a house in a place so easily targeted?

When he asks this, Lady Potts laughs heartily. “Oh you know Tony. He likes to flaunt his wealth. I think the house is a way for him to show off.”

“Someone _did_ destroy it about one year ago. Tony got in rough edges with the terrorists, turned out they don’t like his provocation. It’s been rebuilt since, though”, she continues as she drops her bag in a brown leather sofa, before going to the next room. He hears clinks of glasses.

He takes it as permission to wander around so he can examine the room: the collections of seashells in a jar above the hearth, a clear crystal with a dragon engraved inside it, a miniature of a temple made from burnt silver, the carpet so soft his feet sink an inch in it, the pale brown curtains drawn. He can’t imagine Tony living here. The furniture in the Tower is always sleek in design or made from hard cold metals, the walls painted stark white or covered with patterned black-and-white wallpapers, sometimes with gold and red and blue here and there.

The house feels more… homely.

“Mostly it’s only me here. Tony… doesn’t like the house”, Lady Potts strolls back bringing two wineglasses in one hand and a vintage bottle in another. Thor accepts one and thanks her when she pours for him.

There seems to be a story behind that, but he doesn’t want to pursue it. It doesn’t feel right to speak about Tony without the man being here (and questionably alive).

She doesn’t speak of it either, and instead mulls over her wine. She breathes once, twice, then, “Alright, now will you tell me the full story.”

And so he tells her everything; everything he knows, everything he doesn’t know but his mother tells him, everything that weighs his heart, angers him, saddens him, until he cracks the wineglass under his fingers, not knowing his own power.

And then she ushers him off to bed, because he, quoting her words, looks about to keel from exhaustion and confusion, but not before she gently asks, “Why are you not angry to him? To Loki, I mean…”

He supposes he should. In fact, he was quite angry when he found out that Odin was indeed Loki in disguise. Angry… and hurt, just like what Tony told him. He should know that Loki was master in lies and deceit. He lied to himself, instead, because it meant he was betrayed, again. And oh it hurt.

Instead, now, he feels empty… and confused. Words jumbling in his head. He doesn’t know what to answer her.

—

When he lies at night, staring to the ocean, he thinks that he should have answered her this:

“Because Loki is Loki. Loki is my brother, though not by blood, but he is by bound. Yes, I still think him as my brother, though I can’t say the same if I’m still his brother. For a thousand years and more, he has been my best friend. We played together, learned together, shared meat and mead together. In battle, I know I don’t have to protect my back because he always protects it for me. The same goes for him, he doesn’t have to protect his back because I always protect it for him. There are times where I see him as the brother he was, not a monster he becomes. Funny, smart, witty, always smiling, always plotting for pranks. I think… I think Tony sees it too, the man that he was. That’s why he loves him so.”

He makes a mental note and decides to tell Loki this once they meet again. When they meet again. That is for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya know guys. IRL happens. i just don't care anymore.
> 
> now onto part 3 /o/


End file.
